Hook, Line, and Sink Her
by LizzieV
Summary: Helyka. My Halloween serial that I never finished last year...trying again, a chapter a day. Dedicated to thkgoutloud for story idea. Takes place around "Where and When". A mission to San Francisco uncovers more than just a missing artifact! Complete!
1. Hook

**Chapter 1: Hook**

_England, August 1588 – The Court of Queen Elizabeth I_

Christopher Newport was a privateer, a good one at that. That is why it was of no surprise that he currently stood in the presence chamber of the greatest monarch England had ever seen. The Virgin Queen had summoned him in the wake of the greatest conquest of gold and spices the seven seas had ever seen; but more importantly, also in the wake of the destruction of the Spanish Armada.

It had come about at a fairly high personal cost to Mr. Newport: his right hand. A rogue Spanish mariner had caught him off-guard as they boarded one of Spain's main trading vessels and sliced straight through his wrist. Christopher prided himself on disposing of the rebel before even binding the wound. Fortunately, the limb had been severed in such a clean manner that no infection had formed and Newport was able to hide his affliction by pinning his sleeve and forever carrying it behind his back. As he did now.

The minstrels heralded the entrance of Her Majesty, the Queen and the entire room bowed and curtseyed as she took her seat on the gilded throne before them. Newport waited his turn with his commander, Sir Francis Drake, beside him. He didn't have long to wait as one of the courtiers motioned them forward. They repeated their genuflection and waited to be addressed.

"It is good to see you safe once again, Sir Francis. And I have heard tales of the spirited man who accompanies you today," Elizabeth Regina elocuted.

"My dear Queen, this is Christopher Newport. I do not boast to say that he is one of the principle reasons I stand before you today victorious." Drake motioned to the young man in his bright blue regimentals.

"I also recall overhearing that Mr. Newport did not escape so…whole." The Queen managed to make everything seem a little scandalous. "The loss of a hand—especially the right—must be a difficult inconvenience."

"I assure you, Your Majesty, that I am still capable of everything a man with two hands manages. _Some _things even more capable." Christopher Newport bowed again. He was being rather forward, but since he was not a rival heir to the throne, he reasoned that he would most likely not be beheaded.

"As bawdy as you are courageous; an intriguing combination," the Queen observed and paused before continuing, "nonetheless, worthy of a reward." Without motioning, a courtier with an intricately-carved box appeared between the gentlemen and the Queen. Her Majesty opened it to reveal an item so shiny it took a few moments for the glare to leave their eyes. "My own physicians and blacksmiths have collaborated to design what you see before you. They attest that it will not only add to your—capabilities—but also intimidate any foes you face hence."

The Queen then suggested Newport examine the item and reaching into the chest with his remaining hand, he removed the cool metal shaped into what looked like an enormous fishing implement. Queen Elizabeth's physician-in-chief Rodrigo Lopez appeared and helped Newport unpin his sleeve to attach his gift. Newport professed his gratitude as the court admired his new treasure.

* * *

_South Dakota, October 2011_

"I don't know, he sounded pretty serious. You should probably come down." Myka was standing in H.G.'s doorway, watching the woman hang up recently-cleaned clothes. The woman seemed to own at least twenty vests in varying shades of dark. Not that Myka should be judging…

"Pete? Serious? Are we talking about the same Agent Lattimer?" Helena secured another garment on a hangar and into the closet in one smooth motion before peeking from behind the closet and narrowing her eyes at Myka and asking, "is this your way of telling me he's been infected by another artifact?"

"Funny." Myka huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. "Come on, you're the one that's always saying you don't feel included in team activities. I'm officially declaring this a team activity."

"On one condition then: you assist me in finishing these petty housechores when we are done." H.G. kicked the half-full laundry basket to emphasize her request.

"You're almost done! Why would you need—" Helena pulled another laundry basket, heaped with various garments, that had been obscured behind the bed and heaved it atop her duvet. "My God, woman! Do you have a different outfit for each day of the year?"

"I'll take that as affirmation. Let's jot off then." H.G. smirked at the shocked expression still on Myka's face as she passed her to head out and down the stairs.

Myka and H.G. took a seat on the couch, the last to arrive. Pete was standing in the corner of the living room and seemed to be practicing a speech. Claudia was successfully stealing cookies from the plate still steaming on the coffee table while Leena pretended not to notice. And Artie was as far away as humanly possible.

Agent Wells made a production of clearing her throat, hopefully encouraging this show to get on the proverbial road already. Pete turned around and smiled at his gathered compatriots, clapping his hands together to draw their attention. Unnecessarily.

"I call this meeting to order." Pete looked around furtively before whispering to Claudia, "where's my gavel?" Claudia shrugged her shoulders and made the _Law __& __Order_ doink doink sound. "Fair enough. First item of business is muy importante."

"New case? Did we get a hit on a new artifact?" Myka sounded almost desperate as she posed the questions. It'd been all of thirty-six hours since they got back from Boston on a rather involved case involving Mexican jumping beans. Thirty-five and a half hours too long for the workaholic.

"No, even bigger." Pete sighed, "guys, we have reached the under two week mark for Halloween and we haven't even started planning. I'm not going to lie, I don't think we'll be able to pull off any sort of epic extravaganza given the short timeline but we might be able to—"

"Halloween?" H.G. asked.

"All Hallows' Eve—" Myka confirmed before becoming cut off.

"I know what Halloween _is_, I'm questioning the importance of a 'team activity' being called to discuss its celebration." H.G. almost managed to keep the snarky-ness out of her response.

"I don't know how they did it in 1776, but here we take October 31st very seriously." That earned an eye roll from the two brunettes on the couch. "Am I right Claudia, or am I right?"

"Preaching to the choir, agent man." Claudia wiped a crumb from her lip.

"Amen, sister!" He walked over and high-fived the youngest teammate. "Anyway, like I was saying, we need to get on board stat with what this year's Halloween theme will be. I don't know if you all know this but Oriental Trading rush shipping gets more expensive by the minute. Exponentially, which is why I think we should have a bake sale fundraiser this weekend to offset costs."

"No. No bake sale, Pete." Myka widened her eyes and pointed her finger at her male partner, making sure he knew she was serious.

"Car wash? Because that was my first idea but I didn't think suggesting you four in bikinis would get me very far." By the looks on the female faces, he was right. "Come on, ladies, we _have _to have a Halloween event to end all events. We've gotsta build us some serious Univille cred." He walked briskly to the kitchen and came back rolling a massive whiteboard on wheels. "Let the brainstorming begin."

* * *

_12 days..._


	2. Dot the i's

**Chapter 2: Dot the i's**

_The New World, 1607_

It had been decades since Christopher Newport had seen his right hand, and yet every year hence was more successful still. Yes, he had his share of trials and tribulations aboard the various ships he'd served as time passed. But here he was on virgin soil scouting the site for England's first colony upon this vast mass of unexplored territory. Alive and with many a story to tell, what more could any man ask?

The gift from King James' predecessor, Elizabeth I (God rest her soul), gleamed in the early morning light as Newport rose from his bedding. Newport was a good Protestant man (until night fell and the whores and rum came out) who had no faith in luck. But it didn't escape his notice that the hook he had received from the monarch accompanied him on all his greatest accomplishments. And Jamestown would be his greatest still…

* * *

_San Francisco, Present Day_

The five newest junior associates at Spieger and Goldman—the premier law firm in the Bay Area, so attributed on their website—sat in the conference room dominated by the most beautiful sixteen-seater mahogany table. It was well past midnight and they were for sure the last people in the building besides the cleaning crews. It was their duty to not sleep the first year of their employment (or make sure that if they did succumb to tiredness, it was hidden in their cramped offices). They were office bait: being paid to make sure the i's were dotted and the t's crossed on all papers to be filed and contracts to be executed.

Well aware of the odds that only three of them would make it to the next fiscal year and point-two of them stood half a chance of making partner some day, they sat together with the quiet hum of competition filling the room. They were gathered to discuss the major firm event of the holiday season: Goldman's annual Halloween party. They all knew it was a make or break moment for their reputations.

Carl Rogers, the unofficial leader of the five, spoke first. "I have a proposition to float to you all. What if we decide to costume up cohesively? The managing partners are always talking about the importance of teamwork and I think it would be a strong statement if we chose all of our costumes within a certain theme."

"Dude, totally not into the Halloween scene and anything to make this easier, count me in." Nathan Caldwell was a surfer-boy-turned-legal-prodigy from SoCal and had the sun-bleached hair to prove it.

After receiving similar affirmations from the rest of the group, they began to rattle off themes until they finally agreed on one: Peter Pan. A switch flipped in Carl's head and before he knew it he was calling dibs on Captain Hook. Sword-carrying foe, for the win!

"I'm down with Peter Pan. I'll never grow up, damn it!" Nathan smiled sideways and winked at the ladies earning him the finger from one and an exasperated sigh from the other.

"I call Wendy!" Marja exclaimed, trying to get the more decent of the two female roles.

"Ugh, fine. I can still fit into my green fairy costume from when _Moulin __Rouge!_was legitimately popular and not just some cult-classic, new age _Rocky __Horror_ wannabe." Denise muttered.

"Does that mini rant mean you'll be Tinkerbelle?" Denise threw a pen in Carl's general direction. "I'll take that as a yes. Well, one person left. Aneet, you know what that means."

"And yet I really don't. Who will I be? I am not familiar with this particular fairy tale," Aneet didn't know whether to be grateful of that fact or scared of what he'd gotten himself mixed into.

"Smee!" the rest of the associates declared simultaneously. Immediately, Aneet searched his Blackberry for an image of his character.

"Oh _hell_ no."

"Too late! Majority rules. And if any one of you suckers decides to back out and come as Gandolf or Marie Antoinette, trust me, payback will be a bitch." Everyone knew Carl's statement carried serious weight. If anyone knew how to draw revenge, it was a junior associate trying to move up.

His plan was all set. Knowing that if he could level the playing field on the costume front, the good impressions necessary for success would be formed from schmoozing alone. And if there was anything Carl Rogers knew how to do it was schmooze. Now all they needed to do was find some killer costumes…

* * *

_Meanwhile, back in South Dakota…_

"I may be stating the obvious here but I'm thinking Scooby-Doo?"

"Myka, that's a great idea. And you'll be the one telling Artie he's dressing up like a dog, right?" Pete drenched his response in sarcasm. It earned him a 'ruh-roh' from Claudia's general direction who had already picked out her Shaggy costume in her head.

"Scratch that." Myka piped in. Pete made a big show of writing 'Scooby-Doo' on the whiteboard and X'ing through it.

"I'm never going to understand what the hell is going on with you lot ever, am I?" Helena sighed frustrated.

"Sure you will. You've picked up the cursing extremely well so far. There is much hope for you, young Jedi." Pete offered comfortingly. H.G. threw her hands above her head in an unmistakable 'I give up' gesture.

"Steampunk?" As soon as the suggestion was out of Claudia's mouth, Myka caught her attention and began mouthing 'no' frantically.

H.G. whispered to Myka, "what is steampunk?" Myka put a hand on Helena's knee and abruptly changed the subject, "Wizard of Oz? I've always wanted to dress up as Glinda and was never allowed as a child. Three years I went as Emily Dickinson. Three years! Do you know who recognized me? No one. That's who."

"Okay," Pete exhaled as he wrote Myka's suggestion on the board, resisting the urge to make the 'cuckoo' finger circle around his temple.

Leena chimed in, "Twilight?" Pete wrote her idea in very tiny letters with a big arrow that said 'last resort' beside it.

"What about _Thriller_? Classic, loveable, and more importantly, choreograph-able." Claudia beamed, thinking she'd come up with the perfect solution.

"Overdone. Next?" Pete dismissed outright. And then he was met with blank stares and one pissed off Claudia. "Come on, guys. That's the best you got?" He sighed. "Desperate times, call for desperate measures." He rolled the whiteboard to the side of the room and raided the DVD collection on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases. "I call 'spontaneous horror flick' marathon. For research purposes." Pete got shrugs from Claudia and Leena who maintained their seats as he popped in _The __Exorcist._

"Are you recanting your declaration of 'team activity' yet?" Helena pleaded to Myka.

"No, this may actually be a good cultural lesson." H.G. raised her eyebrows at that remark. "And I'll make you some popcorn."

"Fine." Helena had really developed a taste for the buttery goodness. "But if I have night terrors, you will be dealing with the repercussions.

* * *

A/N: _11 days..._also, this story is crying because it doesn't have any reviews. A "lol" or a "dude, this is lame" only takes like three seconds to post...


	3. Period

**Chapter 3: Period**

"How'd you sleep?" Myka took a sip of her steaming cup of coffee and took a seat next to a very tired looking H.G. Wells, putting the mug down on the dining room table.

"I just do not comprehend how you people derive entertainment by exploiting children in such a gothic manner." Helena sat back in the heavy wooden chair, staring at Myka, wanting an explanation as to why she was submitted to such utter torture.

"I admit, _The __Ring_ is a hard movie to recover from." Myka kept to herself the fact that her hand had not yet _recovered_ from the severe squeezing Helena had inflicted during the moviefest. "I think horror films are a matter of taste."

"Or lack thereof, given the instigator of our little marathon." H.G. sighed.

"I don't know, I definitely wouldn't sit and watch one on my own. But it's fun to watch with others… gauge their reactions," Myka met Helena's gaze, "even offer a semblance of support in those particularly scary moments?" All she got was a raised eyebrow from the older woman.

"Perhaps I am in need of repeated experience to this particular type of modern social phenomenon, but only with the assurance of plenty of popcorn." Helena grinned wryly.

"I promise, lots of popcorn," Myka smiled and placed her warm hand on top of H.G.'s.

* * *

Costumes were not very hard to find in San Francisco, any time of year. Around Haight, near Castro, even along Mission Street there were plenty of vendors peddling their colorful commodities; offering possibilities to those wanting a means of escaping the monotony of real life, if even for just a little while. And it was only natural that Carl and Aneet would be costume hunting together since they were going as Hook and Smee respectively.

Carl Rogers took liberties as much as he was allowed by his society and surroundings, which meant it came as no surprise that he took the liberty of making the two of them an appointment at "Costumes on Haight" to partake in their seafaring wares. They entered the establishment and were met by Adelaide who was expecting them. After a brief tour of their options, each of the gentleman lawyers took a couple of outfits and went into the dressing room.

Aneet easily found his fit: happy with the costume, not happy with the character he was meant to portray. "I never thought I'd say this, but rocking the Indian beer belly here is making it work." Aneet stopped checking himself out as soon as Carl emerged from his stall. "The Cher wig definitely makes the whole thing come together. Maybe Mr. Smee isn't that bad…" Aneet always tried to find a way to play mind games with his associate-friends. He would never admit that Rodgers' looked quite debonair in his pirate-wear.

"It's perfect, you dope. Except this," Carl plunked the hook that came with the costume set against the dressing room door. "What a pity, Mr. Smee. This plastic piece of crap just isn't going to cut it."

"What are you looking for, something to slice and dice the partners? Am I going to have to report you to our mental health officer again?" Aneet questioned. The incident involving water balloons, jello, and the 14th floor was something Carl would rather forget.

"Dude, I hate you right now. No, I'm just looking for something a little more…authentic." Carl admired his form in the rest of the get-up in the floor-length mirrors while he pondered his quandary.

Adelaide once again appeared out of nowhere and whispered conspiratorially, "I know _exactly_ where you can find what you seek, sir."

* * *

"Under no circumstances will this house be decorated or otherwise _reflect_ any sort of Halloween celebrating. Period." Even though Artie was in the hallway with Pete and Leena, he could be heard all the way into the dining room.

"Come on, Artie. Don't we deserve a little break? We've been good boys and girls." Pete initially thought getting the green light from Artie to institute project "EPIC Halloween Extravaganza Part Deux" (it was a working title) would be a piece of cake. Now he was seeing the wisdom in the old adage "it is often easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission."

"A break? A break?" Artie's rising blood pressure was easily discernable by the redness making its way to his face. "Of course you deserve a break! Will you get one? I don't know if you've noticed, Agent Lattimer, but this job isn't exactly gift-wrapping at Sears Roebuck's. You can't just take a day off."

"It's just Sears now. Since like three hundred years ago." Pete commented. Leena glared at him and mouthed 'not helping' before motioning him to just shut up for a minute.

"Well I guess I won't be making my spooky pumpkin clusters or my shortbread bat cookies." Leena knew exactly what strings to pull when it came to Artie's defenses.

"Halloween celebrations may be reconsidered given the enticement quotient of any bribes being offered." He didn't sound any happier saying it and turned to Pete to make sure he understood, "_May __be __reconsidered._ And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that caseload does _nullify_ any sort of allowance I may have otherwise given for festivities." It was a very small speck of hope, but the look on Pete's face had him looking like a dog being teased with a treat. "Also, I expect all of you to be down in the aisles _inventorying_ within the hour. Just because we're not G-d knows where tracking down artifacts doesn't mean we should be _lazy_. Capiche?"

"Comprendere Consigliere." Pete responded in his best Italian mobster.

"Tell the rest of the kiddies they have less than fifty minutes until I want to see their asses down on the floor or else I will be making _gold __stars_ out of your collective hides." And with that, he was out the door.

* * *

A/N: _10 days_...as to Myka/H.G. lovin'? Definite possibility...around chapters 9-13, stay tuned. Haha.


	4. Dottie Pruitt

**Chapter 4: Dottie Pruitt**

_In the Warehouse, Present Day_

"Okay, I'm going to give this one more shot." Claudia took a deep breath and turned to Pete, "We should do _Captain__Planet__and__the__Planeteers_." The young woman tensed as she waited for her friend's judgement.

"Interesting," Pete replied, stroking his non-existent chin hair. "I, of course, would be Captain Planet."

"Well…" Claudia turned back to the shelf of artifacts she was checking against the manifest, not wanting to meet Pete's eyes.

"Well, what?" Pete tried to keep the sulk out of his voice.

"I think we should try and convince Artie to be Captain Planet. Don't you think he'd be honored?" Claudia's explanation didn't go over so well.

Pete snickered. "I think he'd scare any child who came trick-or-treating at the Inn."

Myka and H.G. were observing the entire scene from the next aisle over, peeking at the pair between the shelves. "Do explain, what is a 'Captain Planet?'" H.G. turned to Myka expectantly.

"He's a hero. He takes pollution down to zero." Myka responded seriously.

"Myksters, you're just pretty much repeating the theme song lyrics." Claudia peeked back at the other two between the same set of shelves. "H.G., it's a cartoon from the 90s. Very diverse and eco-friendly."

"Oh, I see. Not only do you exploit children to invoke terror in horror movies but you also indoctrinate them with environmentalist tenets through _cartoons_. This world gets better and better," Helena muttered.

"Seriously, you and no sleep do not a good combination make." Myka observed.

"And who is to blame for my slumber-less night?" Both women turned to Pete. He looked away quickly.

"So who would I be then?" He questioned Claudia, avoiding H.G.'s implication.

"I was thinking Ma-Ti. He's pretty cool, he had a pet monkey for Geez sake." Claudia raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest, challenging Pete to disagree.

"Awww, and his secret power was 'heart.' How sweet!" Myka egged the conversation on.

"Who _are_ you people?" H.G. walked down the aisle to a new section of artifacts, shaking her head in frustration all the way.

..

Artie was seriously working on his temper; not only because he didn't want to die of a heart attack induced by stress, but also due to his genuine affection for his staff. Yelling had ceased to be as effective with the group so he thought he'd change it up a bit by being tolerable about half the time. That's what the older man was thinking about as he came down to check on his crew.

"Did I hear someone say my name?" He first turned to Claudia, because he knew she was the culprit.

"We were…just talking about…" Claudia looked to Pete and Myka frantically, pleading with her eyes for a little help.

"Our favorite Halloween memories," Myka finished for the redhead. "And we were just wondering what yours would be."

"Well, about seven years ago," Artie leaned in towards Pete and Claudia, Myka getting as close as possible though a fifty-foot stack of metal stood between them, "I WAS IN A COMA." Artie smiled, "That was a pretty memorable way to spend Halloween."

"So, Claudia," Pete turned back to his go-to crime partner. "Captain Planet, you were saying?"

* * *

_Meanwhile, in San Francisco…_

Adelaide had cryptically scrawled directions to a storefront in Chinatown after packaging up the pair's costumes. Aneet managed to wait until he and Carl were outside before muttering, "Dude, she was major creepsters."

"Might as well go check out her lead. There's a sweet dim sum restaurant near this address if I remember correctly. Just in case it's a completed dud, at least we'll have some decent grub." Carl knew Aneet would be up for it. Second-generation Indian American gave the man a healthy appetite.

"And you really can find the craziest ish in Chinatown. I took my sister down there when she came to visit last summer and we found a pair of _Battlestar__Galactica_ chopsticks. What owns more than Adama on eating utensils?" Aneet tried to balance his costume bag as he talked, he suspected Carl had tossed some of his accessories into the Smee packages.

"I agree, man. Crazy shit in Chinatown. Let's just hope that one of the treasures to be had is an epic-looking hook." Carl knew he'd be in contention to win Mr. Goldman's costume contest trophy, but finding the last piece to his get-up would make him a shoe-in.

* * *

_Across town, by Pier 39…_

Dottie Pruitt was two days into a weeklong vacation of the Bay Area. She'd saved up her meager earnings as a checker at one of the small grocery stores sustaining her stifling hometown back in Iowa for over a year now. And here she was, living her dreams. Or what few dreams she'd come up with in her twenty-three years on this Earth.

Hitting every last one of the tourist traps along the waterfront, Dottie caught a bus to take her back towards the center of town. She planned to hit Union Square and then walk down to Chinatown before taking the train along the California coast to wine country later that afternoon.

Poor, sweet Dottie Pruitt had no way of knowing wine tasting would be a dream she'd never get to realize…

* * *

A/N: _9 days_…the reviews? Awesome! I love this fandom! (Now go read "Stopgap" and stop that story from crying…Ch.8 was one of my favorites to write! I used the word "twangy" _twice _for geez sake! haha)


	5. Doth Protest

A/N: No LOLs on the _Captain __Planet_ reference? Mother Earth is crying…haha

* * *

**Chapter 5: Doth Protest**

_Somewhere in the Atlantic, 1609_

For two days straight, the newly-hewn hull of the _Sea_ _Venture_ had been wracked with the vengeance of Poseidon himself. Constant downpour and rough seas made the third supply voyage Christopher Newport was trying to make to Jamestown all the more difficult. Sir George had taken the helm to allow Newport to inspect the vessel's caulking firsthand. The ship was taking on water faster than the crew could bail it out. Even the most distinguished of the passengers were frantically moving the foodstuff and other supplies from the flooded bottom levels to higher ground. Newport passed Sir Thomas Gates and John Rolfe carrying various crates as he made his way across the deck. All that could be heard above the roar of the heavens was the crying of the women and children.

Without warning, Christopher was flung against the hull and an unnatural hush fell over the souls aboard the _Sea __Venture._ The ship had stopped.

* * *

_Present-day Chinatown, San Francisco_

A weekend in a big city always saw the sidewalks packed: locals trying to decompress mingled with an influx of out-of-towners (or worse, those from the 'burbs) made every establishment brim with business. That's why Dottie Pruitt thought the alley would be a better option for navigating the twists and turns of the Asian neighborhood she was currently exploring.

She stopped halfway down the narrow street, each side of the pathway lined with back doors to who knew where. It was a rather muggy day and she rested on a wooden crate to take out a drink of water and her map. As she screwed the top to return the Nalgene bottle to her knapsack, she heard the container beneath her rumble. As a child she'd always been of the curious sort, and she never grew out of that dangerous trait.

All she could make out of the faded block lettering was maybe "Bermuda" and the lid fell open easily in her hands. An unearthly light hit her shocked face as the contents was revealed. Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. Dottie's body crashed helplessly to the asphalt. No one was there to observe Dottie Pruitt's last breath.

* * *

_A little later, at the B&B_

"So this is now a regular occurrence, then?" The British tones were more questioning than perturbed. Her constant protesting had come to nothing; Agent Wells had resigned herself to letting Pete be Pete.

"'Tis the season, H.G. 'Tis the season." Pete disconnected the Wii system and re-plugged in the DVD player before popping in a disc. "Tonight's selections will be the best of Freddy Kreuger."

"Original and _New __Nightmare_?" Claudia asked.

"Come on, Claud. What else would it be?" Pete smiled and gave her a high-five before taking the recliner.

"Don't worry, these are oldies. Definitely not as scary as the other movies we watched, but I am throwing down a 'freaky kids' warning." Myka took the vacant seat next to Helena and pulled the afghan that usually hung along the back of the sofa to rest across their legs. She put the bowl of popcorn between them. Everyone else would just have to fend for themselves.

..

They were about fifteen minutes into _New__Nightmare_ when an unexpected noise made the lot of them practically jump out of their seats. Unfortunately, Helena had been resting her hand on Myka's thigh and now there were tiny ridge marks where her nails had dug into the soft skin.

"What the hell is that noise?" Pete stuck a finger in his ear, trying to block the ringing in his head. Leena got up and went to the kitchen.

"Dude, it's the landline." Claudia gave him her best "are you serious right now?" look.

"Hey, who has a house phone anymore?" Pete paused the movie and flipped the switch on the lamp next to him. "I wonder if it has unlimited long-distance…"

Leena came back into the room, with a grim look on her face. "Guys, Artie needs you at the Warehouse. There's been an incident."

* * *

A/N: _8 __days__…_also, San Francisco is pretty much the coolest city in the world. When next I visit, I'll have to meet up with LOCISVU and wiffyscoob! :-)


	6. DOT

**Chapter 6: Department of Treasury (DOT)**

The team found Artie in the office, frantically typing away on one of the many keyboards in the room. His fingers were jamming the keys from such a height it almost seemed comical.

"What's up, Big Cheese?" Pete greeted his boss, just in case he hadn't heard them come in.

"There's been a mysterious death in San Francisco that looks to be artifact-related." Artie pulled up crime scene photos onto his computer screen. "Some cornhusker from Iowa."

"I think cornhuskers are from Nebraska?" Myka turned to Pete for confirmation and her partner just shrugged his shoulders.

"Either way, she's dead. And I want _you_ to find out why." Artie pulled a few sheets from the printer. "I've booked you three the next flight out to SFO. You leave at 6:30 am." He handed electronic boarding passes to Myka, Pete, and H.G.

"Just hear me out, I think Claudia should go. She's a 'Frisco expert. She's watched every episode of _Monk_ at least twice." He heard the redhead mumble something about knowing enough not to call it "'Frisco."He fought the urge to smack her upside the head. "Also, I am taking a vacation day. My last paycheck hasn't direct deposited and I feel a silent protest is in order. Ever since Secret Service transferred from the Treasury Department to Homeland Security, let's just say Uncle Sam has been a cheapskate."

"I know, right?" Myka turned to H.G., "I've been saving up to get this amazing tea set that supposedly Jane Austen used." She shook her head up and down, "True story."

"Back to moi." Pete poked his thumb into his chest. "So, Artie, what do you say? You, me and a bucket of wings in front of the big screen while the girls take care of this little, bitty, single death?" He leaned in to the older man's personal space and whispered conspiratorially, "The Browns are at home against the Seahawks. It's going to be an epic game."

Artie stared at the young man for a full thirty seconds—emotions ranging between wanting to kill him and just feeling sorry for him. "Okay, Pete, before you get on your hands and knees I'll let you sit this one out." Pete did his happy-turned-touchdown dance while Artie made the announcement, "Claudia, you're up."

After recovering from the shock, the young woman threw her hands up and yelled, "Score!" She then joined Pete in his celebratory body writhing.

* * *

The girls arrived in San Francisco a little before midday and quickly caught a bus downtown. The medical examiner was waiting for them at the morgue and with Myka flashing her badge at the entrance to the City building, they were let right in. Dottie Pruitt's body—prone on the metal slab—was covered with a white sheet, only the highest tip of the Y-incision visible. Myka quickly made the introductions for herself and for Helena, emphasizing the "agent" part. After Dr. Karen Gomez introduced herself, she turned towards Claudia.

"Would you believe junior reporter?" The redhead pulled out a mini steno notepad and began taking notes. Everyone decided it'd be best to just turn back to the body.

"Anyway, besides the obvious, she was the picture of health." The coroner turned to her guests, "Her heart just stopped."

"Not some sort of congenital disease or pre-existing condition?" Myka questioned.

"I didn't find any artery clogging or plaque, blood work came back clear." The coroner paused before continuing, "But I think you'll find this interesting." Dr. Gomez pulled back Dottie's eyelids to reveal a creamy blue glaze covering what used to be dark pupils and irises.

"Cataracts?"

"At her age, it's nearly impossible it'd be this advanced." The doctor let the eyelids slide close. "She was blind when she died."

* * *

Once outside, Claudia and H.G. took a moment to breath in the salty San Franciscan air. Myka was more preoccupied with making a call. "Hey Pete, I need you to check something for me."

"Colt McCoy is dead to me. I've seen higher scoring baseball games." Pete sighed dramatically.

"Pete, stop talking gibberish and focus." Myka moved her head closer to the Farnsworth screen. "Look up our vic's family. And I need you to go back as far as possible. I have this nagging feeling there's a reason this artifact targeted her specifically."

"Are you even sure it's an artifact?" Translating Pete-speak into English, Myka knew he meant "Are you really making me do work right now?"

"Pretty sure. I can't figure a girl like that dying so suddenly without a little help from something unnatural. All her tox screens came back clean."

"I'll look into it and call you if I find anything." Pete sighed, "And tell Claudia I'll give the fifty bucks I owe her when she gets back."

* * *

A/N: 7 days…next chapter is one of my favs, stay tuned!


	7. Dot Com

**Chapter 7: Dot Com**

_The New World, 1609_

"Where have we found ourselves, Sir George, besides at the mercy of God?" Christopher Newport had managed to make his way back the helm through the commotion of passengers after the beaten vessel had made an emergency dock. Sir George Somers—second in command—was frantically moving about with charts and the sextant. After taking a sight, Sir George turned to Captain Newport and lowered his spectacles. His finger rested on a plot of land located next to a rather intimidating looking sea creature, the English cartographer who had made the chart indicating their predicament.

Newport read "Bermoothes" as the name given to their location while Sir George announced dejectedly, "Welcome to the Isle of Devils."

* * *

_San Francisco, Present Day_

"Pete is supposedly looking up information on our victim. So I guess we have a little time to kill?" Myka looked at her two companions as they walked further away from the coroner's office, wondering what they would do with the rest of the afternoon. She noticed H.G. looking around wondrously at the bustling city around them.

"It is pleasant to see San Francisco thriving after that horrid earthquake." H.G. commented.

"Oh, no, the World Series quake in '89 didn't do as much damage as people think. The Bay Bridge was up and running in no time." Claudia countered.

"I meant 1906. But thanks for the history lesson." Helena patted Claudia on the back as Myka held back a smirk.

"Why don't we find a nice place to get a late lunch?" Myka just remembered no one had eaten since before the flight.

"I know just the place! It's a little down Market Street." Before the other two could assent, Claudia was already jumping on a bus.

..

"This area is so colorful! What country does the rainbow flag represent? Its immigrants have seemed to make this area their own…" H.G. pointed out the plethora of banners hanging prominently in the district.

"Oh, it's not a country. It's for Gay Pride." Claudia explained as they stepped into a lovely looking restaurant called Café Flore.

"People are celebrating how happy they are?" Helena reasoned out loud. They approached the counter and waited to order behind a few couples ahead of them.

"No, 'gay' in this instance doesn't mean 'happy.' It symbolizes…" Myka was having trouble figuring out a way to put it.

"It means same-gender relationships, H.G. Among other things." Claudia announced nonchalantly as she made an "oohing" sound and pointed to the scrumptious pastries on display.

"Same-gender relationships?" H.G. looked around at the various tables and their occupants, noticing that many of the men with men and women with women were sitting rather close to one another. Intimately close. "Oh my, and rather publicly at that." Helena turned to Myka, her tone turning accusatory, "Why did you never tell me about this?"

"Well, it never came up." Myka tried to change the subject. "I'm thinking the soup and half sandwich. What about you?" Luckily, they were up and the cashier looked at them expectantly. Myka dodged the bullet momentarily.

..

The girls found an unoccupied corner booth, H.G. purposely sliding into the outside seat on the same side as Myka. Claudia sitting across from them didn't notice the tension between the pair, instead focusing on the musician singing an unrecognizable tune and strumming away on her acoustic guitar. Helena followed Claudia's gaze and was instantly mesmerized by the beautiful olive-skinned woman and her clear voice. The performer noticed H.G. as well, winking to the British woman and motioning her to one of the empty tables closer.

Before Myka could stop her and ask her what the hell she was doing, the Farnsworth signaled a call from home base. "Pete, horrible timing!"

"Woah, you're the one who asked me to—hey, what's that sound in the background."

"My worst nightmare, just tell me what you found."

"You won't believe this, but remind me to tell Claud that we need to renew our ancestry. com subscription. I got a two week warning and didn't—"

"Pete! Focus!"

* * *

A/N: 6 days...


	8. Dotingly

_**Chapter 8: Dotingly** _

_Jamestown, 1610_

In the first few moon phases of their shipwrecking, Captain Newport had seriously considered abandoning the supply voyage and creating a settlement with the survivors where they stood. They had foodstuff and basic necessities to last the nearly two hundred passengers through winter and early scouting expeditions had found the island quite plentiful with natural resources. But Newport had been charged by the King himself to complete the voyage and he would see it through yet.

It took nearly an annum for the castaways to assemble two sea-worthy vessels to carry them to Jamestown, but as mid-Spring was falling over the Atlantic seaboard the _Deliverance_ and _Patience_ pulled into port. They were greeted by a fair amount of Jamestown colonists. When questioned, those gathered confirmed they were all that was left after a harsh winter and unknown illnesses took more than three-quarters their number. One of the elder men who miraculously survived approached the Captain.

"There is a difference about you, Captain Newport," Martin Hodge commented, his eyes diverting to the misshapen apparatus attached where once precious metal protruded his right arm. It was easy to recognize it was a rather hasty-made replacement.

"What you have heard of Bermoothes is not said in jest. Though we share your misery for the diminished numbers we see before us, the Isle of Devils truly tested our wits. I among them suffered most personally." Christopher Newport raised the replacement hook in the air, exhibiting to all assembled that it was not nearly as glorious as once it had been. It would be many weeks before Captain Newport divulged what had happened on the island.

* * *

_Chinatown, San Francisco—Present Day_

After seeing the commotion around the shop they were heading towards—crime scene tape and sirens—,Carl and Aneet decided to try the dim sum place a few blocks over first. After stuffing themselves with various small plates of Chinese goodness, the pair made their way back to "Good Times Coming." It always amazed Carl how these trinket shops had such silly names. _Must__be__lost__in__translation_, he reasoned to himself.

They were met at the entrance by the shopkeeper and a strange, unrecognizable odor. The lawyers hoped it was intentional incense and not some dangerous scent coming from the merchandise. The shopkeeper was equally mysterious, Carl finding it impossible to discern his ethnicity or age. But that was not why he was here.

"Hello, sir. My friend and I were referred here because we are looking for a very specific product and were hoping you could help…" Before Carl could finish his introduction, the shopkeeper was beckoning them to follow. As they delved deeper into the interior of the shop, Aneet followed closer and closer to Carl to the point where they were almost touching. Carl could feel the fear radiating off his companion and made a mental note to tease him about it later.

"Naughty, naughty." Or that's what it sounded like the shopkeeper was mumbling to the wooden crate resting near the cash register.

"Umm, sir. If I could maybe just tell you what I'm looking—" Carl and Aneet leaped back as the shopkeeper whipped open the crate and brandished a sharp metal curve, seeming to gleam though no light source was present. The Indian man shrieked aloud, knowing his life would soon end and that Carl must feel the same even if he didn't show it.

"This." The shopkeeper didn't ask, he told. And Carl just stared on in amazement.

* * *

_Somewhere in Castro…_

"What did you find out about Dottie Pruitt?" Myka tried to get Pete back on track, as much as she could through the tiny screen.

"Let me tell you, that girl's family goes _way_ back. Like original colonists back. I was able to trace her ancestors back to Jamestown. Pretty impressive since only one in ten survived that first long winter…it's so strange to think that—" Pete began to ramble.

"Okay, Pete. Thanks for the lead. Gotta go."

"Wait, I wanted to see if—" Myka didn't even let him finish before closing the Farnsworth and trying to spot where Helena had gone. The guitarist had finished her set and was now talking with H.G. at a two-seater in front of the stage. Myka quickly made her way over.

"Hey, your soup is getting cold." The younger agent placed a possessive hand on H.G.'s shoulder.

"My appetite for soup seemed to have left me," Helena purred, not to Myka but to her new companion. "Myka, I'd like you to meet Victoria. Not only is she a gifted composer, but she also grows—what was it?"

"Organic peppers. Twenty different varieties just down in Palo Alto." Victoria made to shake Myka's hand in introduction, but Agent Bering made no move closer to allow it to happen. It was a rather awkward exchange that didn't faze Helena in the least.

"Isn't that just fascinating? Organic peppers!" H.G. most assuredly didn't know what an organic pepper was, but didn't seem to care.

"Well, I just got some information from Pete on our case and we're going to be leaving soon." Myka had her arms across her chest, but still motioned towards their table by twisting her body and hoping H.G. would get the hint.

"I can make sure Helena gets back to the hotel. I wanted to show her some of my produce at the farmer's market down the street." The worst part was Victoria seemed so charming.

"That sounds glorious." Helena turned to Myka for the first time since the whole conversation had started, making sure her tone smoldered, "That won't be a problem, will it?"

"I guess not." Myka made quick work of rejoining Claudia in their booth, packing her items, and dragging the youngest Warehouse member out of the café with half a sandwich still in hand.

* * *

A/N: _5 days..._and just remember that the chase is sweeter when there's a little competition!


	9. Dotterel

A/N: Getting a flu shot and then indulging in tequila almost made this chapter not happen…lol

* * *

**Chapter 9: Dotterel**

_In a lovely hotel room, San Francisco, Present day_

Myka could be as emotional as any woman when she wanted to be. And sometimes equally as emotional when she didn't want to be. Pacing across the hotel room (a room she just happened to be sharing with the object of these emotions) did nothing to quell the irrational fury growing within her.

Was that ringing in her ears? No, it was coming from the nightstand table where she had hapharzardly tossed her cell. She recognized the number instantaneously. "H.G., where the hell are you?" Myka didn't even try to cover the exasperation she felt.

"Oh, I just rang to tell you not to wait up," warm tones teased.

"What?"

"Myka, when in Rome."

"Need I remind you that we are on a case here and not some hippie musician exploration sightseeing tour?" The young woman pulled out her best berating baritone.

"Now you are purposefully trying to not make any sense. Open the damn door." The line went dead and Myka threw her phone on the bed in a huff. Seconds later, she heard a knock on the door and opened it to reveal a very smug looking Helena.

"You are such an easy target when it comes to teasing, do you know that?" H.G. walked in and threw her bag on the couch. "So, do we have any more insight into this case?"

"That's it? That's all you're going to say to me?" Myka knew the blood was rushing to her head in such a way to make an unbecoming flush raise upon her alabaster skin. She didn't even care.

"Did you not just remind me of the fact that we are here on business and not pleasure?" H.G. continued her teasing, even though she was sure it would lead to a short life if she crossed the line. "Speaking of business…" Helena pulled a metallic pack from within the folds of her tailored coat. "How does our young Claudia put it? 'Snagged, bagged, and tagged'." The older woman pulled the edges of the bag apart enough for Myka to peer at its contents. "Hildegard of Bingen's sun pendant necklace, which will add nicely to the Warehouse's collection of Catholic mystic artifacts."

"Hilde-who?" H.G. was talking too fast for Myka to process her words through the anger she was trying to harbor towards the older woman and her recklessness.

"Myka, your lack of knowledge concerning 12th century German nuns gives me pause as to your continued work with the Warehouse. Shame!" Oops, perhaps that was the line after all. The way Myka's mouth opened and closed made her look like a fish out of water. And maybe that's what she was because she didn't even know how to react to H.G.'s relentless taunting. It didn't help that Myka couldn't stop thinking about the way Helena had been so chummy with that Victoria lady.

"There was a term back in my time, a dotterel. It refers to a person who is easily duped," Helena explained.

"Now you're calling me a fool? What the hell, Helena?"

"No, no, no, darling. Not you. Victoria. I feigned an interest in her to gain possession of this artifact." H.G. shook the bag appealingly, an attempt to placate the young agent who looked like she was about to strangle her. It may have been the slightest of a white lie. Helena gauged telling Myka the truth—that she'd only realized the pendant may be an artifact after Victoria explained that it had been handed down by the women musicians in her family and they'd all gone a little vision-seeing crazy the older they got—would not have been the best course of action. It implied that she'd been attracted to Victoria and went with the musician because she wanted to spend time with her. That was a lie too. Helena went with Victoria to measure the extent of Myka's jealousy (jealousy the young woman was currently trying to cover up with white-hot anger). Helena couldn't help the smirk developing on her face. "Sometimes artifact hunting is just that easy."

"Well, it's not the artifact we're here to retrieve, so yay for you but we still have a lot of work to do." Myka didn't allow her irritation to dissipate.

"Not even a thank you? Not a 'well done, old chap'? Is it so hard for you _not_ to be the champion of every case?" This was getting out of hand and now Helena found herself getting a little ticked off, even though she was the one who started the whole thing.

* * *

_In the Tenderloin…_

Carl's apartment maybe wasn't in the best part of San Francisco, but looking on the bright side made the deal he could get on fishnet stockings in the area a definite plus. He guessed he could probably get a pretty good deal on the hookers that bought said fishnet stockings too, but that wasn't really his style. Especially since the skanks that frequented the corners around his loft didn't seem to shower very often.

As an upcoming lawyer, maybe it wasn't as important where he lived: in the TL he could afford to pay the rent while living alone and still manage to have a little left over to buy some sweet-looking suits. Why did it matter if the apartment buildings were so close together he had a clear view of the guy's apartment across the alley? If Carl sat at his kitchen table to eat a late-night dinner, he could watch the premium channels his neighbor seemed so fond of on the nice big screen TV the man had hanging on the far wall of his living room.

But, now, Carl wasn't having dinner on the table set across from the two apartments' windows. He was playing with his new toy: the gleaming hook he'd picked up from that cracked-up shopkeeper in Chinatown. He was so transfixed with his soon-to-be appendage that he didn't even notice his neighbor's sudden demise.

* * *

_Jamestown, 1610_

The physician (or the man within the colony with the most medical knowledge who survived the long winter) could assume nothing more than the ail plaguing Christopher Newport was an imbalance of the humours. And the quickest way he knew to rebalance the Captain's four basic substances was through the practice of bloodletting. As Newport tossed and turned in his bed, struggling in a restless slumber, the physician steadied the sailor's arm and placed an inch-long slit perpendicular to the crease marking his inner elbow.

As the Captain's blood flowed into the catch bowl, the physician leaned closer in an attempt to make out the words Newport mumbled. All he could decipher was the word "devil".

* * *

_Back in the room…_

"Guys." Claudia had come through the door adjoining the two hotel rooms almost a full minute ago. Neither woman noticed, too busy bickering. "Hey guys!" Claudia threw in a whistle and finally Myka and H.G. stopped long enough to look the younger woman's way. Though they were glaring daggers at their redheaded colleague, they paid attention when she said "there's been another murder."

* * *

A/N: 4 days…LOCISVU and tarebear23 are review rockstars! Thanks a zillion :-)


	10. Dotted Line

A/N: I'm late, I'm late…for a very important date! "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" marathon prevented this chapter from posting on time. Haha, but it's like twice as long as all the others...that counts for something, right?

**Chapter 10: Dotted line**

**From the diary of Christopher Newport…**

_The colonists hither situated have informed me of the great toils they faced while our supply convoy was delayed south. I fear we have multiplied their burden by adding to their numbers and stretching the barren provisions all the more thin. We await replenishments from home port but cannot depend on an accurate arrival given the nature of the last voyage with which I was so intimately involved._

_Recalling our harrowing experiences while stranded on the Isle of Devils occurs more oft than not. The sudden deaths by disease or the otherwise unexplained of more than half of our compatriots since settling this New World sets the mind to wonder whether tis a sign from God that perhaps we are not meant to be here. Never more did I feel such sentiment stronger than the annum spent on Bermoothes._

_The sensation of an evil presence is ever present in wherever the good subjects of King James find themselves._

* * *

_In the Tenderloin, San Francisco…_

The agents (and agent-in-training) arrived at the crime scene as the last streams of sun fell across the Bay. It was always beneficial to see the surroundings of where the artifact had done its damage, and if they were really lucky, the artifact would still be in the vicinity.

By the time Myka, H.G., and Claudia arrived, the small apartment loft was abuzz with police and crime scene techs. The nosy old lady in the apartment below had called the authorities after hearing a loud thud through the kitchen ceiling. The coroner, Dr. Gomez, was already hovering over the body and scribbling descriptive notes on her clipboard. She looked up and instantly recognized the trio of women who had been in her morgue shortly after the Dottie Pruitt autopsy.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing you all again," Dr. Gomez commented.

"Do you think the murders are related?" Myka asked as she and H.G. squatted down to get a better look.

"I still haven't ruled them to be murders, just suspicious deaths." The good doctor took a gloved finger, kneeling near the head of the recently-deceased middle-aged man and pulled back his eyelids revealing the same cataract affliction in the Pruitt case. "Very suspicious."

"Welcome to our world," Claudia mumbled. Everyone looked up at her and her wide-eyed expression made it clear she knew she needed to stop thinking out loud.

"I won't be able to definitively know if the two deaths are related until after I complete his autopsy." Dr. Karen stood and the others followed her lead. "I assume you want a copy of the official report."

"Please," Myka responded. "We're just going to look around for a moment, if you don't mind." The coroner motioned them along, bringing the rest of her team around to prepare the body for transit.

"So, what do you think?" Myka asked her two associates as they looked around the sparse apartment. Besides a nice flat-panel TV, there were few personal possessions.

"Well, I do not believe I spot anything of particular value within these lodgings," was H.G.'s observation.

Claudia turned to face the only window. "I hope he got this place cheap, not the best view unless you're a voyeur." The young girl motioned across the narrow alley to the other apartment a stone's throw away. Myka and H.G. pivoted to get a look and noticed a young man pacing his own apartment.

"Let's go see if he saw anything."

..

"Hello, sir. We're from the Secret Service and were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about your neighbor, Stanley Emry." Myka showed Carl Rogers her badge and waited to see if he could offer any insight as to what happened across the street.

"Who's Stanley Emry? Oh man, what happened? Busted another crack dealer?" The young lawyer shook his head.

"No, he was the man who lived across from you in the next apartment building over? Did you have any contact with him recently?"

"Oh, that dude. Naw, never met him. Just watched his TV on occasion; have a pretty sweet view of it from my dining table."

"Do you mind if we step in?" H.G. asked, not waiting for permission as she side-stepped the occupant.

"I guess not." He knew his rights and knew he didn't have to let the agents in without a warrant, but he had nothing to hide. Besides, the young one was kinda cute in a hipster sort of way. As she walked in behind the two brunettes, he made of point of introducing himself as "Carl Rogers, esquire" and shook her hand.

Myka and H.G. made quick work of scoping the joint for anything out of place. Unfortunately for their observation skills, Carl had put away the hook he'd been playing around with for the last hour before he opened the door to let them in. It was sitting in a rather innocuous-looking wooden box on the dining room table. The two brunettes came back to stand near Claudia and Carl to continue the questioning.

"You haven't noticed anyone or anything out of the ordinary the past couple days?" Myka asked.

"Honey, this is San Francisco. If you notice anything _normal,_ that's when you start to worry." Carl answered coolly, unaware of the glare Myka was now pinning him with for calling her 'honey'.

"Have you smelled any fudge?" Claudia asked seriously. Myka jabbed Claudia in the side with her elbow and H.G. just shook her head back and forth. "What? Valid question!"

"Excuse me?" Carl finally looked the slightest bit taken aback before he quickly recovered. "I actually need to be getting to work. Do you mind if I leave?"

"No problem, Mr. Rogers. But if you remember anything, please give us a call."

"You got it." The young man took the business card Myka offered and retrieved one of his own before handing it to Claudia and mouthing a "call me."

Walking back down to street level, Claudia and H.G. voiced their concerns over Mr. Rogers. Claudia identified the ill-sitting feelings as their "spidey senses," but either way you described it there was something about the lawyer that was off.

* * *

_The Law Offices of Spieger and Goldman_

It was another late workday at Spieger and Goldman and yet again the five junior associates were gathered in the big conference room, Carl recently arriving making the excuse that he had been questioned by the cops. No one actually believed him. The partners had gathered their staff around the end of business today to leave them with a little proposition. Whichever associate closed the most contracts (or the most financially-lucrative contracts) would receive a hefty bonus as well as some much deserved vacation time. The five didn't know where they stood in the race with the rest of the firm's associates, but if they could close out this multi-million dollar settlement in the next hour they might have a chance of winning.

"Who schedules a deposition for Friday afternoon anyway?" Aneet asked the crew as they worked on quickly reading through the transcripts of witness questioning they'd done a few hours earlier.

"Rich people." Marja answered dejectedly, picking up another file that weighed more than she did.

"Oh right. Always at their beck and call." Nathan, the surfer boy, commented.

"That's why they pay—our bosses—the big bucks." Carl threw in his two-cents.

"At times like this, I always remind myself it could be much worse." Denise looked around and made sure to make eye contact with everyone before continuing, "We could be public defenders."

"Just a couple more hours and we'll be enjoying the open bar at the Halloween party. Just keep trucking, guys." With a collective groan, the lawyers continued powering through…that much closer to when they could shirk the lawyer-work and toss on their costumes.

* * *

_Back at the hotel…_

"I'm not going to draw you a map to make this easier. This isn't like a game of _Pacman_." Myka threw her hands in the air, sitting on the edge of one of the beds and crossing her arms. The bickering had resumed as soon as they entered the hotel room again, even with Claudia joining the two older women in their hotel room to continue their work.

"Pardon?" H.G. was unfamiliar with this _Pacman_ person.

"You know, follow the dotted line?" Myka was trying to make Helena understand that her frustration with the Brit because of H.G.'s sometimes-reckless behavior would have distinct consequences on their friendship "Maybe that's a bad analogy."

"Guys, you do realize I'm still in the room?" Claudia didn't even bother to stop her fast-moving fingers on her laptop, just raised her voice enough to be heard. "This sounds like one of those conversations that should be had without company. The UST is getting irritating."

"What is this UST you speak of?" H.G. narrowed her eyes and looked at the redhead.

"Jinkies! I said that last part out loud?" Claudia really needed to stop doing that.

"Claud, what is UST?" Myka asked more insistently than her British colleague.

"it-stands-for-unresolved-sexual-tension," was the young girl's mumbled response.

"Come again?" from Helena and a "what the hell?" from Myka were spoken simultaneously.

Claudia exploded, using a raised voice she rarely succumbed to, "It stands for UNRESOLVED SEXUAL TENSION. The way you both are either bickering or staring LONGINGLY at each other is getting KINDA old. Geez, get a ROOM already." The young redhead took a deep breath, calming back down to her normal self. "Wait, I guess you already have a room and this is it. And, wait again, you can't make it official until either tomorrow or Sunday because those are my days in the 'when are Myka and H.G. going to finally hook-up' pool. I think Leena has today, and we can't have her win or we'll _never_ hear the end of it…"Claudia trailed off, knowing she'd said too much.

"There's a _betting __pool_ to see if we are going to get together?" Myka's eyes widened in surprise.

"I wonder if Leena would consider splitting the profits with me. I believe I have next Tuesday and Thursday and I do not think I could hold out that long…" Helena added.

"You _knew_ about this?" Myka turned to H.G., her eyes blazing.

"Well, yes. I feel sometimes Agent Lattimer cannot keep a secret to save his life. And after explaining that I would not have undue influence over the situation—"

"How could you not have _undue __influence_?" Myka questioned, none of the anger she'd been harboring the past few days dissipating in the slightest.

"Myka, darling, everyone is well aware that no one can make you do something you do not want to do. And according to young Claudia here, I've made my intentions rather overt." H.G.'s tone was even and calming, perhaps even tinged with sultriness.

Myka looked dumbfounded; unable to comprehend the conversation they were having. Luckily, Claudia saved her from having to process too much.

"Guys, I know where Carl's going to be. And if our hunch is right, this could be bad. There are A LOT of people that are going to be around." Claudia turned the laptop around for the two women to see what she'd found. It was an electronic invitation to a Halloween party. "He's going to be at the SFMOMA tonight."

"Shall I even ask what SFMOMA stands for?" H.G. questioned tentatively. She was having a rather awkward record with acronyms of late…

* * *

A/N: (Let's pretend)…3 days…the next chapter should be up in a couple hours after I finish watching this Notre Dame football game. Go Irish!


	11. Dotty About

A/N: A day late and a dollar short…I'm going to finish this story if it KILLS me. Will. Not. Give. Up!

* * *

**Chapter 11: Dotty About**

_At the Goldman & Spiegler Halloween Extravaganza, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art_

Claudia, Myka and H.G. were riding the elevator up to the rooftop café of the stunning Museum of Modern Art. Well, stunning to most. H.G. had commented as they walked through the entry gallery that the works were "trite" and "modern art was not really art at all." It was hard to be critical of H.G.'s observations since she personally knew many of the Pre-Raphaelites. Luckily, the conversation shifted to something a majority of them could agree on: the abhorrence of their attire.

"Sorry, they were the only costumes I could get us on such short notice. Deal with it." Claudia pulled up the goggles on her Amelia Earhart to look at her co-workers.

"It doesn't even fit me; it's at least two sizes too small." Myka reached down to adjust the white knee-highs that completed her outfit. The salesperson had referred to the costume as the "naughty sailor". The baby blue mini skirt and midriff-revealing halter top definitely caused naughty thoughts in everyone who looked upon the brunette.

"Oh no, I believe that is how the manufacturer intended it to look." Helena was not immune to such wicked thoughts, trying as discreetly as possible to give Myka the once over without making the younger woman more angry at her. "If you so wish, I will allow you to exchange your costume for my Lady GooGoo monstrosity."

"It's Lady _Gaga_ and if you don't stop complaining, I will go back and get the one in the egg," Claudia threatened.

"I am at least removing this crown piece." Helena made to take the tall, fabric-covered headpiece before the young redhead batted her hand away.

"Then you'll just look like a woman in a red lace dress. No one will get it." Claudia huffed.

"You know, I have a great idea. Why don't we go as SECRET SERVICE AGENTS. I have a real badge and everything." Even yelling, neither one of the women could take Myka seriously in that outfit. Every time she moved her arms in outrage, the light blue vinyl made the silliest of squeaking noises.

"In a room full of lawyers? I don't think your badge would get you very far…" Claudia reasoned and replaced her goggles over her head.

Thankfully the elevator opened and the women exited into the madness of a very hopping Halloween shindig. Claudia and H.G. turned around once they realized that Myka wasn't walking with them, noticing her huddling in a corner by a fake plant. Making their way back to their sexy shipmate, they caught the last part of her conversation over her communicator.

"First, what did Pete say? And, more importantly second, where the hell did you pull your Farnsworth from?" Claudia asked in amazement.

The glare Myka threw her answered the second question before she began to fill them in on the first. "Pete says that our second victim, Stanley Emry, also has a family connection to the original settlers just like Dottie Pruitt. So we know we are on the lookout for an artifact related to the Jamestown colonists."

"Cotton Mather's cotton gin?" Claudia offered.

"Wrong time frame and he wasn't a farmer, he was a minister," Myka corrected. Claudia mumbled something about why someone would be named "Cotton" if they weren't a farmer…

"John Rolfe's ruffle collar?" Helena guessed, thinking it would fit right in at a costume party and she turned to see if she could find someone wearing a period piece with a stiff ruff about their neck. She counted at least three Shakespeare lookalikes. Must be popular with barristers.

"That's a possibility…"Myka commented before the Farnsworth came alive once more. All three women crowded around to look down at the screen that had a very smug looking Pete staring back.

"Pleaaasssee, Claudia, tell me what Myka's wearing. I'll do anything." Myka looked at Claudia so hard that she didn't dare give in to Pete's pleading. She then turned her glare to Pete to encourage him to get on with the reason for his call. He cleared his throat and then continued, "After _conferring _with my new bff, Artie, we think you should be on the lookout for Christopher Newport's hook. How epic is that? A freakin' hook! I'm so jelly."

"Wait, a what?" Myka asked.

"_I have waited long to shake your hand with this_," Pete added in a haughty English accent. Together with Claudia, they finished, "_Peter Pan, prepare to meet thy doom!_" Myka and H.G. looked to Pete and Claudia in turn, trying to understand what was wrong with them.

"C'mon, guys, _Hook?_ Making a mental note to add that to our movie night rotation," Pete pointed to his head to emphasize his point. "Back to all seriousness, the research says that Captain Newport's hook causes blindness but only affects descendants of the original Jamestown colony. It's supposed to be in Bermuda, though, where he lost it and where it was supposedly imbued with the bad juju. Like the New World saying 'nuh-uh, we don't want any of this British riff-raff'." H.G. cleared her throat. "Well, we like _some_ British riff-raff. Uh, British folk. Ladies. Stopping talking now."

"So we're looking for an epic-looking hook, probably with that creeper Carl, but it's supposed to be in Bermuda?" Claudia asked just to make sure she had it all down. Pete kept his lips closed and just nodded in confirmation.

"No, the island angle fits. One of the trade shops near where Dottie's body was discovered recently received a shipment from Bermuda," Myka informed. "Okay, Pete, thanks for the information. We'll keep you posted." She closed the Farnsworth and waited for Claudia and H.G. to turn around before sticking it in her secret hiding place. Hopefully she didn't have to draw her Tesla tonight…_that_ might take a few extra seconds to extract.

"Okay, well let's get out there. More than likely Carl is in the middle of that mosh pit over there." Claudia pointed and the mass of writhing bodies forming around the DJ stage.

"Dance? To this? What is a 'Mr. Saxobeat' anyway?" H.G. asked, hoping someone would think of a better course of action and fast.

"Who knows, it's just dance music. Go with it." Claudia started breaking out some of her moves, all fist pumps and chest bumps.

"This is not music, this is grunting," H.G. mumbled, following the pint-sized pilot rather unwillingly.

..

It only took a few seconds for Claudia to lose Myka and H.G. in the sea of costumed dancers. It gave the women a brief moment to continue their argument from earlier.

"You could just be more considerate of my feelings sometimes, y'know? Show me you care every once in awhile if you really do." Though they were on the edge of the dance floor, Myka tried her best to sway to the funky beats in an attempt to blend in as she spoke.

"I do not plan to dotty about like some love-sick young person. If you want to pursue a courtship with me, it begins on equal-footing."

"Look—," Myka started before being cutoff.

"Look at nothing. That is my ultimatum." H.G. responded harshly.

"No, look behind you," Myka grabbed Helena around the shoulders and turned her around so she'd be able to see where Claudia had ended up. In a corner of the room with a very sauced-looking Carl Rogers wearing a very shiny looking hand piece. The two brunettes quickly took position near Carl and Claudia to block them from the view of the rest of the partygoers. Sharing a quick look, Myka and H.G. decided that Claudia should bag this one on her own.

Looking over her shoulder, Myka's eyes widened as she saw Claudia lay a searing kiss on Carl's lips, one of her purple-gloved hands pulling his head closer. While the man was so pleasantly preoccupied, he didn't seem to notice the young redhead extract a silver bag from the recesses of her khaki coat with her other hand. With one swift movement, she removed the hook and pulled away from him just long enough to place the artifact in the waiting pack. The spark that was emitted was pretty substantial and Carl fell to the floor with an "I've been shot" and grabbed at his chest before passing out in a drunken stupor.

Claudia walked over to the Bad Romance Reveler and the Mariner Minx, looking rather smug. She put a gloved hand to her ear and sing-songed an "I can't hear you!"

"Snagged, bagged, and tagged," the two brunettes answered together. Myka added a "way to go, Claud" as H.G. clapped her on the back in congratulations.

"Thank you, thank you!" Giving a little bow, Claudia handed the recently-neutralized artifact to Myka. "Now I am going to go bask in the glow of my victory for a little while. There was a ghostbuster over there that _ain__'__t_ _afraid_ of a little crazy, if you catch my drift." The redhead clicked her tongue and winked, throwing the two older women a thumbs up before heading back onto the dance floor.

"C'mere, my saucy swabbie!" Helena made to move Myka closer to her with the intention of taking _her_ back onto the dance floor. Myka pulled away with a sour face. "You know, a swabbie…it is slang for a lowly sailor."

"I got it, Helena. My look of disgust wasn't from a lack of understanding." Myka crossed her arms along her chest, undermining her attempt to look angry and just managing to look more attractive.

"Did you not just berate me for not showing affection earlier? I though you enjoyed this writhing your people refer to as dancing…"Helena pointed at the mess of people still gyrating near the DJ. Many couples looked like they were holding each other up rather than moving with any sort of rhythm, the effects of over-imbibing evident.

"I'm still mad at you…for so many reasons," Myka breathed.

"Name one," H.G. challenged.

"Victoria. The betting pool. This get-up." Myka moved her arms to cover her bare stomach.

"Two out of three of those reasons were really none of my doing. And, Victoria, well…I do not believe I will be picturing her in a sailor outfit for the foreseeable future. Only you. It is only ever you, Myka my darling."

* * *

A/N: For the sake of this story…2 days…but really more like 2 hours…sigh.


	12. Line

A/N: No comments on the naughty sailor? Can't we all just picture our cute little Myka in one of those?

* * *

**Chapter 12: Line**

Goodness knows how Claudia, Myka and H.G. managed to find their way back to their hotel after the Halloween shindig at the SF Museum of Modern Art. The older woman had taken advantage of the free-flowing alcoholic beverages and Claudia, well Claudia had suffered from too much sugar and dancing, and not nearly enough rest. As Myka wiped the sleep from her eyes she hazily recalled being dropped off by a cabbie who gave them a free ride…she remembered that he was staring at her chest as he said it'd be on the house.

Myka still felt rather dirty and violated from having to endure an entire night in the skimpy get-up. And the cheap vinyl material had irritated the sensitive skin along her upper hip. Making to rub the tender area, the young brunette found her arm immobile. It was trapped under something…or someone? Pulling her hand from underneath the obstacle, Myka's fingers grazed over soft cotton and some sort of elastic waistband. Blinking her eyes to see a little more clearly and ignoring the tingling in an arm that was reawakening, she recognized the white tank top and flannel boxers as her own. But they were definitely not on her body…

Her companion, jostled from her comfortable position, turned around to come face-to-face with her bedmate…

"Helena?" Myka squeaked before clearing her throat and trying to erase the sensation of cotton mouth.

"Were you expecting someone else, my dear?" Even with sleep still evident in her half-lidded eyes, H.G.'s voice was as smooth and rich as honey.

"I wasn't expecting _anyone._ What happ—how are we? Did?" Too many thoughts running through an already foggy head just added to the slight ache of hangover Myka was already feeling.

"I believe the phrase is 'we just passed out'. I vaguely recall Claudia helping us out of our costumes as to not rip them so she could receive her full deposit back. She is also the one who assisted us into our bedclothes." Helena looked down at what she was wearing, "Well, assisted me into _someone__'__s_ bedclothes."

"They're mine. It's fine. So, we?" Myka let the question hang.

"No." H.G. thought it best not to remind Myka how just before their departure from the party, the younger woman had cornered her near the chocolate fountain and laid a few searing kisses on pliant lips. "Do you wish we had?" Looking at Myka, Helena saw none of the resentment that had dominated all their interactions of late; just the faintest of blushes spreading over high cheekbones in the most adorable of fashions.

"Breakfast time!" Claudia announced as she came through the door adjoining the two hotel rooms, not even bothering to knock. "I found a super cool cupcake shop down the street called 'Mission Minis' while I was returning our costumes…couldn't help myself, bought a dozen so ya'll need to help me before I eat them all. And we all know me and sugar do not a good combo make." Both women sat up in the bed and looked over at their redheaded friend who'd opened the white box she was carrying to showcase her sweet wares, amazed at the amount of energy she was able to exude at such an early hour after such an excitement-packed night.

"They look delicious, Claud. Thank you. Just give me a minute to clean up." Myka grabbed a change of clothes and threw a wink at H.G. before entering the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the older woman throw her hands up in gratitude and fall back into the pile of pillows. Claudia immediately jumped on the bed to join her, placing the box of baked goods between them.

While in the bathroom, Myka thought it best to use the privacy to make a phone call. "So Pete, ol' partner, ol' pal…how do I get into your little 'Myka/H.G.' betting pool?" She smiled into her cell.

"The odds are better and the line decreases the closer you get to major holidays. It's a five dollar buy-in per day and the only opening within the next two weeks is this coming Wednesday and Tuesday the 8th. You interested in either of those?" Pete didn't even seem fazed that Myka brought up the pool, just calmly explained the inner workings of the most recent Warehouse gambling scheme.

"The line?" Myka wasn't a seasoned bettor, hard to believe.

"Yeah, it's a side bet on how long after you two hook-up that Artie will find out. I was thinking of adding a 'who he'd murder in that case', but it's already complicated enough," Pete informed her.

"Y'know, give me a little while to think about it. We're on our way home. See you in a few hours." Myka shook her head as she ended the call. What would she do with Pete?

Quickly changing and returning to the main part of the hotel room, Myka noticed the two women had made sizeable dent into the colorfully-decorated cakes.

"Mmmm. You must try this flavor, what did you call it, Claudia? Red velvet?" H.G. unwrapped one of the few remaining cupcakes and bit through half of the velvety goodness before feeding the rest to Myka. A little smudge of cream cheese frosting marred the corner of Myka's lips but Helena made quick work of swiping it away with her thumb and sucking off the creamy mess. It felt like such a natural action…

"No, no, no, no! I'm going to pretend I didn't see that! I thought I had this weekend, but I rechecked online and it's Pete's weekend in the pool. If you thought Leena shouldn't win, Pete _really_ will never let you forget it if he's victorious. So go back to yelling at each other for the next six days please." The "please" came out as "plreath" as Claudia stuffed another cupcake in her mouth.

"Claudia, finish that one and you need to go pack. We're flying out in an hour and a half." Myka chastised, giving the young girl her most motherly look. As soon as the redhead gobbled the rest of her treat, she wiped the crumbs from her top and rubbed her hands together as she walked towards the door.

"Now, no funny business while I'm away!" Claudia commented as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

A/N: Happy Halloween! I hope to get the last (very short) chapter up as soon as I write it (hopefully in the next hour). My girl friends and I went to work as "gold diggers" (nice short dresses, plenty of jewelry, and gold-plated shovels)…what are you dressed as?


	13. Sink Her

A/N: Thanks to **tarebear23 (x4), Nura de Mithlond (x2), Sky That I Fell Through, SeetheRed, scoobydum (x2), teriyakiskater, lalunatikat (x3), LOCISVU (x12!), Jougagne, rk, wiffyscoob, anon, gingervitis25, Fragavan**, and **anonymous** for making this story a success. LOCISVU, tarebear23 and lalunatikat win the awards for most ardent reviewers…your prize is a fic of your choosing written by me: any fandom, any pairing, any prompt. PM me to take me up on the offer, or leave your suggestion in a review.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Sink Her**

After a long and arduous artifact-hunting expedition to the wilds of San Francisco, the girls arrived back at Leena's only slightly worse for wear. Plopping their overnight bags on the entryway's hardwood floor, they were greeted with the sights and smells of Halloween. There were the typical decorations: synthetic cobwebs, carved pumpkins (guessing the Cleveland Brown-themed jack-o-lantern was Pete's doing), and plenty of baked goods for the B&B occupants to enjoy.

"Home, sweet home!" Claudia exclaimed as she took a handful of Leena's special candy corn brittle, stuffing it in her mouth. Myka and H.G. looked on in amazed disgust. Soon two of their colleagues joined them: Pete and Leena welcomed them back.

"So, Myks, have you decided if you want in to the _y__'__know __what?_" Pete thought if he lowered his voice a little and waggled his eyebrows a lot, he'd come off as discreet. H.G. looked over to Myka and squeezed her elbow knowingly, then turned to Pete to shake her head derisively. Artie picked that moment to walk in with two huge bowls of candy.

"Woah, bossman, where did that come from? Springing for the _good_ chocolate candy?" Claudia went over to inspect the sweets. "The full-sized bars? Did you win the lottery or something?"

"Well, actually _something_ like that. I stumbled upon this little cigar box marked 'betting pool' and knowing that none of my AGENTS would ever even CONSIDER illegal gambling schemes, I used the wad of cash I found as a donation for trick-or-treat candy." It was hard to tell if Artie was angry or pleased as punch. He turned directly to Pete and added, "The children of Univille thank you." The other five Warehouse workers shared sheepish looks, some more than others glad that this betting pool nonsense had come to a decisive end.

"Now that _that_ is out of the way," Pete clapped his hands before continuing, "we need to get into costume before the kiddies start arriving."

"Dare I ask what we will be dressed in?" Helena queried tentatively.

"I'm just going to tell you it has to do with the ocean," Pete relayed cryptically.

"Oh God, no. Not again." Myka's face flushed redder than they'd ever seen before and H.G. couldn't help but let loose a laugh.

Pete turned to Claudia and asked if he'd said something wrong as the two led the way up the stairs to the bedrooms to get ready. Claudia informed him that it was best not to ask.

…

"Why do I always have to be the back? When I was seven, Tyler Tisdale forced me to be the back of the horse too," Pete whined.

"Well, I can definitely see why…" Helena offered. "A question, Pete. Why do these gowns look so familiar?" H.G. finished cinching the bustle on her period piece and waited for his response.

"Uh, you see…so last minute. Had to borrow. Maybe raided your closet." Pete thought that if he didn't answer in full sentences he'd stand a better chance of not getting slapped.

"At least you're just the back. I'm the front AND the first mate. I have to make boat noises _and_ continuously yell 'Iceberg, right ahead!'" Claudia matched Pete's whine huff for huff.

Stopping all conversation was Myka's entrance into the upstairs hallway. The crushed red velvet dress with ever-so-detailed gold lace accents fit her like a glove. She'd pinned her hair up but a few curls escaped to fall enticingly about her elongated neck. Helena couldn't take her eyes off of her and didn't know if her inability to breath stemmed from the tightness of her corset or the way Myka's eyes shimmered as she walked closer.

"Absolutely stunning. That dress never looked nearly as good on me. It is yours," Helena gushed. Myka smiled with gratitude.

"Yeah, now this is _my_ kind of costume. Let's get this show on the road." Myka looked over to Pete who was rolling his tongue back into his mouth. "Or boat in the water, as it were." The downstairs doorbell rang and the two-part ocean liner along with its three lady passengers made their way to greet their first Halloween guests…

Claudia answered the door, declared her line about the iceberg in a lovely baritone, and smiled down at the child accompanied by her mother.

"You have to sink her." The little bumble bee, no older than seven or eight, left the Warehouse agents nonplussed with her declaration.

"Pardon me, young lady?" Helena was the first to regain her composure. And it seemed as if the little girl was speaking directly to her.

"You have to sink _her_." It seemed as if the trick-or-treater was staring straight at Myka, pointing as she spoke. Both Myka and H.G. couldn't help the blood rising to their respective cheeks at the tiny voice making such a statement. "It is the _Titanic_, isn't it, Mommy?" Finally the little girl took her eyes from Myka and H.G. to look up at her parent.

"Oh, yes, Titanic. Sinking. Very good, little one." Myka sounded the slightest bit breathless. The rest of the trick-or-treaters weren't nearly as exciting…

Finally the knocks at the doors stopped and the B&B residents were able to retire to their respective bedrooms. Well, almost everyone retired to their own bedrooms. Feigning a necessity to help Myka with those "pesky back buttons", Helena followed the younger woman into her room.

"Well, that was fun. I'm so exhausted I could sleep for a week!" Myka tried to keep talking, keep her mind on anything but the fingers burning a hot line down her spine.

Changing the subject entirely, Helena asked, "What do you think that young girl meant?"

"Which young girl? There were like a thousand young girls." Myka knew _exactly_ what young girl H.G. was referring to.

"Sink her?" Helena's hands moved to Myka's shoulders, sliding the delicate fabric from now-trembling upper arms.

"Oh, _that_ young girl." Myka turned around to face Helena, reveling in the emergence of gooseflesh at ever spot the older woman touched her. She smiled, no longer worried but filled with delightful anticipation.

"Even though the pot of money will not be awarded, I still believe I am coming up the winner in Pete's little betting pool." Helena let Myka's costume fall to the ground, all but forgotten in the wake of passionate kisses.

**-The End-**

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN!**

A/N: 13 chapters, 13 days (more or less...) Thank you for coming along on this silly journey with me (two years in the making!) and special thanks to **thkgoutloud** for turning me onto the lore of Christopher Newport. If you enjoyed, let me know and feel free to read (and review) my other W13 stories. If you haven't already figured it out, I'm a review whore. Like the biggest one you'll ever know. Haha.


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